Avalanche
by snarechan
Summary: Germany discovers that when America and Russia compete against each other they don't get mad, they get even.


Canon-verse, post-WWII/Cold War era fanfic starring Germany's POV because I've always wanted to explore my own take on the snowball-fighting-trope. Few! What a mouthful, amirite?

I approached PunsBulletsAndPointyThings about beta reading my APH backlogs and they graciously agreed to lend me their editing services! Credit to polishing off and making suggestions on this story goes to them, but any remaining errors are my own.

* * *

Germany found America on the communal balcony on the third story of their hotel. The architect had obviously intended for guests to take advantage of the scenic views, but no one saw fit to inform them of the harsh winters here. It was a shame, that for at least half the year this space was never used. Germany was surprised to see anyone outside in these high winds, much less the same country that complained at every available opportunity about snow or cold.

He contemplated not stopping and heading right to the stairs as he'd intended. Their meeting would be starting in fifteen minutes and while his attendance was mandatory, tempers after the second world war had very few countries trusting him to conduct anything. Germany _understood_ , even welcomed the reprieve from such duties, though it was hardly for his benefit. Nevertheless, he couldn't say that he was in that much of a hurry.

Adjusting the collar of his jacket he stepped through the glass doors to join him. Germany didn't own much in the way of insulated gear, not anymore, but he didn't remember ever having as much as America wore now. He had on his bomber jacket, the fur lining on his cuffs and collar pulled out to their furthest extent. A thick sweater just peaked out, making his jacket puff out more than usual. America also wore thick leather gloves and a woven hat. All in all, he resembled a fluffy turtle, as his body hunched on top of the cement railing.

When he stood beside him, Germany's question was answered even before he voiced it. From this vantage point he could see some people milling around down below. There were no families here at this time – travel, unless enforced, was not on anyone's mind. Finances were also understandably tight for many. Just men and women rushing from one side of the courtyard to another, intent on conducting meetings of their own or readying to come or go for business. Some were in uniform. One pair was Russia and his brother, Prussia.

Germany cleared his throat, but still had nothing to say as he watched the scene below. He wasn't sure he much cared anymore about what America was thinking, or how long he'd stood out here, or how he knew the other two countries would even be there, or anything else, really, when he finally got to observe his family for the first time in months. Not many countries could spare traveling expenses or the time to visit these gatherings, even if they were able to make the choice to come. That Prussia _was_ here…

"At what angle would a flying object have to arc to land on a target, oh, three-hundred feet or so?" America asked.

 _America is thinking about math puzzles at a time like this?_ he wondered. From experience, he knew it was best to humor America's random bouts of intrigue than fight them. Staring straight ahead, Germany tried to do the calculations and came up short. "There are too many variables. Even converting your measurements it will depend on airspeed and—"

America laughed, breath coming out in warm puffs of steam. His fingers played in the snow that had fallen on the thick cement blocks while he kept leaning his elbows on the support. "Let's assume, for argument's sake, that it's the same knots as today."

A slight scowl crossed his features. Germany didn't care much for _guessing_. Furthermore, if this really was some kind of number game it wasn't set up well. "It remains unsolvable. Why is it you need to know?"

"Hm? Oh, I just kind of came to my own conclusions, but it never hurts to get a second opinion."

Germany eyed the other nation's hands; America's fingers never stopped with their ministrations. He'd compacted the snow into a small sphere, and it was with dawning horror that Germany looked back out over the courtyard. Russia was snubbing out his cigarette and appeared to be heading back inside, in the direction of the meeting room. Prussia was trailing behind him. "This is…all hypothetical, correct?"

"Yeah, yeah, _hypothetical_."

"Then perhaps we could discuss it more, on our way to the meeting?" Germany asked, almost _begged_ , and motioned towards the entrance to the building. "We must not be late."

America sighed and made a dramatic show of pushing himself up to his full height. "Mm. I guess you're right. I was starting to lose the feeling in my toes, anyway."

Germany should have known it was too easy. His shoulders sagged in relief and they'd barely taken a few steps before America was breaking away, running back to the railing, and hoisting his arm. With a precision Germany would have normally admired, America must have channeled every single major league baseball player he had and let fly a fist-sized snowball.

There was nothing Germany could do but watch in silent mortification as the snowball sailed in a perfect line towards Russia, striking him dead-center in the back of the head. From this distance he couldn't make out more than Russia stumbling a step as the snow exploded on contact, getting in his scarf and hair. As the country whirled around Germany felt a firm tug on his front, and America yanked him to the ground, last night's snowfall cushioning the force with which he fell.

America had a hand balled up and shoved in his mouth to keep from laughing, his chest still heaving with the effort to keep it at bay. In contrast, Germany could scarcely breathe for a different reason. Eyes wide and heart racing, Germany was too terrified to even muster up his finest reprimand. Italy, endearing but _trying_ Italy, had never managed to make Germany speechless like he was in this moment.

"What," Germany managed to wheeze through his windpipe, "have you _done?_ "

"Shh! I don't know if he's gone yet," America said, loosening his grip on Germany's jacket. As if crawling through the trenches, America made his way back to the railing and leaned against its rough surface to peek over the edge. Why they had to whisper was beyond him, given they were so far up, but Germany didn't dare raise his voice just in case. "Oh my _god_ , you should see Russia's face right now!"

"I would rather not," Germany said. He remained on his back, staring up at the grey skies and wondering if this was it. This would be their world now once everything went nuclear and winter was eternal.

"Okay, the coast is clear. We should definitely hightail it to the meeting," America said, straightening back to his feet. He held a hand out for Germany to take. The other nation contemplated pulling the idiot back down and shoving his face in all the snow for his reckless and immature behavior, but Germany's muscles just felt… _spent._ Instead he reached out and let himself be helped to his feet, dusting off the snow and trying to rid his clothes of wrinkles. It was a rather lost cause.

They had to rush a little to access the correct side of the hotel. This location was not only chosen for how close it was for many of the attending countries, but also for its convenience in layout. Everyone's accommodations were in the same building as the conference room, and no one had to leave in the cold to access them if they desired. Shaped like a giant rectangle, rooms were located on the west, east and south sides, with everything else towards the north.

When they reached the front of the hotel they caught an elevator to the floor above, where the largest conference room was reserved for their purposes. It was said to take up almost the entirety of the whole floor and kept private. As the doors opened Germany choked upon witnessing who was already on it.

Russia smiled and placed a hand on the door to keep it open. "Ah, going up as well?"

"I don't know, isn't the elevator already over its designated weight limit?" America asked with a straight face.

Germany tried really, _really hard_ not to get involved in these…exchanges. He tried his absolute hardest, in fact, preferring to flatten against the nearest wall and keep his head down and never, ever get between them. Honestly he'd had enough fighting, physical or psychological or otherwise, to last him forever if he could help it. But he had no qualms shooting America the most pointed _look_ he could muster, willing him not to start a fight in a confined space such as this.

"Nonsense, Comrade. This elevator is even big enough for you!"

Germany stepped inside, keeping as close to the other side of the entrance and going so far as brushing against it to squeeze in without touching anyone. He just wanted to get to the meeting, that was all. Preferably in one piece. If he took advantage a little and stood in the back as close to Prussia as he dared, well. America and Russia were too preoccupied to bother keeping a close enough eye on either of them.

The silence that filled the space as soon as the doors shut was tense enough to fill Germany's lungs with lead. His breathing never rose above being shallow, as if an act that simple was liable to set something off. Germany would have assumed he was the sole individual affected, but America was awfully still himself. His hands, remaining in their gloves, were shoved in his pants pockets. Aside from his posture there was nothing. No humming or awkward shuffling as he was wont to keep himself occupied or warm.

Then Prussia had to open his mouth and remind Germany why he had an ulcer or two expressly with his name on them. "So. What strange weather we're having, huh?" Germany shot out a hand, gripping Prussia's wrist tight in warning, but it was too late.

America snorted, no longer capable of concealing his smile. "Huh, you do kind of look like you got caught in a freak snowstorm, Russia. Is that where all the snow came from?"

" _Da_." Germany wondered how Russia's teeth didn't crack with the effort it must have taken to say that one word. His expression was neutral, at least for him. But nobody was fooled when Russia noticed the lingering snow and brushed it off, most of it landing on America. "The snow here seems very…treacherous. Best to be keeping both eyes open while visiting. It would be a shame to get caught and die of hypothermia."

Germany despaired and watched the numbers overhead creep towards their required floor. He couldn't recall a longer elevator ride in his entire life, but hoped this would be the worst of it.

The following day, while standing outside by his car, covered in the only snow bank taller than their heads, Germany decided _no, that wasn't the worst of it._ He'd parked it there himself and not moved it since, so despite not seeing anything he understood it to be his car. The license plate and bumpers were gone the cover was so thick.

Beside him America stood, one hand covering his mouth and the other braced at the elbow. Squinting, he let out a tiny hum. "You know, what pisses me off the most is I can't even be angry. I just want to know how Russia did it. Do you think he stood out here and shoveled the snow on top himself or did he order one of his satellite states to do it? Did he bribe a local? I'm honestly curious."

"I am curious how you intend to fix this," Germany said, unable to outright say _I blame you for everything_ , though he totally and completely blamed America for the misfortune that had befallen his prized car. He technically wasn't supposed to own one, but America was as obsessed with motor vehicles as Germany was, and insisted on keeping some in the West territory when he visited. He was limited on where to keep them, so in exchange they often carpooled in Europe.

"Oh come on, even you have to wonder about the logistics," America argued, but at least he moved while he talked, shoving an arm up to his shoulder into the snow. There was some shifting as he seemed to be searching for something. "I mean, ours is the only one coated in the stuff, much less up to what – seven or eight feet? I wonder if it took all ni— Ahah!" With a firm tug America wrenched the car out from under the mound of snow, revealing that at one point someone had filled the inside with snow, also.

"Oh. Okay, maybe now I'm a little mad. Still impressed, but this sucks," America said, over Germany's strained whimper.


End file.
